Sherlock and John were sitting in a spacious taxi, laughing at how incredulous Lestrade had appeared when they showed him their solution to the Kensington mystery. What topped it off was seeing how furious Anderson and Donovan were when all of them returned from the criminal's hideaway and saw that the consulting detective and his colleague were right. Once the incredulity had passed Lestrade had been impressed but the other two were determined that Sherlock had faulted somewhere. When their allegations came to a dead end after the crime labs had spent the entire afternoon analyzing each piece of evidence at their request, they were forced to accept that the consulting detective had once again bested them. Sherlock and John left Scotland Yard in high spirits.

"How about some dinner? We can give Mrs Hudson the night off," John suggested lightly.

"We'll go to Angelo's," Sherlock stated, verifying his text messages.

"And I get no say in this, do I?" John asked, sounding off-putting.

Sherlock glanced at him. "You wanted to go out to eat and I just gave you a place," he said evenly. "I don't know why you're complaining: Angelo always makes sure we eat for free."

"I'm not complaining!"

"Did you even hear the last part of that sentence?"

"I – There's no point in arguing with you, is there?"

"I think even you can figure that one out, John."

The doctor sighed somewhat dramatically. "Why do I even bother?" he asked rhetorically. "Angelo's it is, then."

Sherlock smirked. "Indeed, why do you bother? Could it be that you enjoy a challenge as much as I do?" the consulting detective asked, a little teasingly.

"Maybe I do. Who knows what the reason is? Personally, I'd rather keep the mystery alive."

"Good."

John fell silent as Sherlock removed his seatbelt, leaned towards the small window and gave the taxi driver directions to Angelo's restaurant. The driver nodded and took a sharp left turn that threw a surprised Sherlock almost face first against John. The doctor grunted as the consulting detective's slight weight fell on top of him, and Sherlock was slightly stunned by the impact.

"Sorry, mates," the driver said, looking into his rear view mirror.

"No problem," John mumbled irritably. "See what happens when you don't wear a seatbelt?" Sherlock felt his friend's hands gently take him by the biceps and straighten him.

"Are you okay?" John asked softly.

Sherlock looked at his friend and caught a light in those brown eyes that he had not seen before, and it made him slightly uneasy. He noticed that John's hands had remained on his arms and how there was little space separating them. The consulting detective swallowed hard. The physical contact was too much; they were too close.

"I only bumped into you, John," Sherlock said with as much indifference he could muster, extracting himself from his friend's grip and creating distance between them, clicking his seatbelt back into place. "It's not as if I ran headlong into a brick wall."

The light in the doctor's eyes vanished and it was replaced by – was that disappointment? There were times when Sherlock was unable to read his friend's moods and this was obviously one of those times; he might have imagined what he had seen for all he knew. The seeming disappointment went as quickly as it came and John gave what Sherlock perceived to be a very weak smile.

"I bloody well hope not," John said, trying to sound light. "I would've been insulted if you had compared me to a brick wall."

Somehow, Sherlock sensed that the disappointment had nothing to do with the insult but he kept quiet. They exchanged no more words until they reached the restaurant. During the remainder of the ride Sherlock kept replaying the moment where he collided into John: being so close to the doctor had made him feel slightly uncomfortable. Normally, the consulting detective would have associated the discomfort with his unease with close contact in general but this was different. He felt self-conscious all of a sudden, a feeling he had never previously experienced. John was clearly the cause of it but how did he create this reaction? It was a strong one, and it sent Sherlock's mind reeling.

They arrived at Angelo's and Sherlock's phone rang as John paid the taxi driver. Frowning, the consulting detective took his phone out and saw that it was Lestrade calling. Why was he calling? Lestrade knew perfectly well how Sherlock hated to speak over the phone; texting was so much more convenient. The consulting detective sighed dramatically and reluctantly answered.

"You know I hate phone calls, Lestrade," Sherlock said coolly. "This better be good."

"And hello to you too," Lestrade replied indifferently. "I'm calling you because I didn't want to wait for an answer via text message."

"You are perfectly aware that I reply to text messages immediately," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. John caught sight of his expression and was watching him with interest.

"Not when it's someone contacting you from Scotland Yard."

"Your reason for calling, Lestrade?"

"The press wants to do a conference about the Kensington murder and your presence is requested. John can come along if he wants but they're mainly interested in you."

"A press conference for a simple murder?"

"Well, you know the press: they like to get their hands on every story they can find. So will you be there, Sherlock?"

"You won't leave me alone until I say yes, won't you?"

"It's you they want so they won't leave me alone until I promise them you."

"Fine. John's going to be there too whether they like it or not."

"What? Me? What do you need me for?" John wanted to know but Sherlock waved his question down.

"Great! The press conference will take place Friday morning at nine o'clock at Scotland Yard. See you then," Lestrade said cheerfully. "Have a good evening."

"Indeed," Sherlock muttered as Lestrade terminated their connection. He hung up and pondered over the matter. The conference was on Friday, meaning it was four days away. That was barely enough time to be able to at least get rid of the annoyance that was building inside him over this. Both the press and Lestrade would have to deal with whatever he threw at them.

John was still watching him expectantly. "And?" he said.

"I'll explain when we're seated," Sherlock replied abruptly. He swept past his friend and stepped inside the restaurant.

Angelo's business was, as per usual, a cheerful one. His enthusiasm for life had increased by a tenfold after he had been released for prison for car theft and it reflected in the atmosphere of the eatery. Despite the cheeriness Sherlock liked it here: the meals were excellent and Angelo never made him pay. It was a win-win situation in the consulting detective's eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson!" Angelo exclaimed cheerfully, wringing their hands. "How are you this fine evening?"

"We're fine, Angelo," Sherlock answered with a smile. "I can see that you've got a new woman in your life."

"Why, indeed I do! How on earth did you know?"

"Your clothes have been ironed to perfection and smell of a brand new detergent that you've never previously used. Your hair has been slicked back with hair gel so that not one strand is out of place regardless having spent an entire day cooking and cleaning in the kitchen, and you are wearing a new pair of leather shoes, suggesting that a woman has brought you shopping since I know you can't choose a good pair of shoes for yourself without any kind of help. You always seem to pick the ones that disintegrate after a month or so."

Angelo laughed good-naturedly and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. "It all sounds so simple when you explain it! Come with me. I will give you your usual table by the window," he said.

The restaurant owner led the two friends to their table and gave them each a menu. "Order anything you like. As usual, it's on the house," Angelo said enthusiastically. "I've just noticed that you don't have a candle. Every date needs a nice romantic candle."

"I'm not his date!" John called to Angelo's retreating back. "Every single time it's the same thing. Why does he keep thinking we're in a relationship?" he asked, turning back to Sherlock.

"Don't know," Sherlock replied somewhat absently as he perused the menu.

Angelo returned with the candle and placed it between them. He winked at them and returned to the kitchen.

"Thanks," John mumbled. "Say, Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you ever correct Angelo whenever he calls us a couple?"

Sherlock jerked his head up from the menu so fast it was a wonder he did not snap his neck. It had never occurred to him but John was right: he never did correct Angelo on the subject. For the first time in his life, Sherlock had no answer. He never really thought of informing Angelo on the true nature of his relationship with John; he was always more interested in watching out for the criminals he was chasing. Now he had the doctor staring at him, waiting for a reasonable answer. Sherlock could only reply in the best way he knew how.

"Because it's not important, John," he said. "There are bigger things in life to worry about than how we are perceived in the eyes of the public."

"Ah…" There was that momentary flash of disappointment in John's eyes again. Sherlock was certain that he did not imagine it this time. Did he say something wrong? He possibly couldn't have: John was always the one moaning about how people got the wrong idea about them so the consulting detective's clinical reply should not have upset him. They weren't a couple and there were more important things than constantly correcting every single person who called them lovers.

The dream suddenly reappeared in Sherlock's mind's eye. Clearly, the nature of the dream suggested they were in a relationship, even if the one that had presented itself in Sherlock's sleep was a fictitious one: the touching, the undressing, the kissing… That kiss was what struck Sherlock the most. He might have felt a little uncertain as John embraced him but he had also felt new passions rise within him. It had been a little frightening, but it had felt good; almost a little too good, in fact. A friend should not be able to trigger such sensations. Sherlock allowed the dream to replay itself in his mind as he analyzed it, trying to find some pattern or any kind of logical explanation. He could find none.

"Sherlock?"

The consulting detective gave a start as he remembered where he was. John was eyeing him curiously and Sherlock cleared his throat before focusing on the menu again.

"What were you thinking about?" John asked.

"Nothing!" Sherlock replied hastily, and he nearly winced when realized he had said that a little too quickly.

"Come on, Sherlock. I know when you enter your 'mind palace.' What's on your mind?"

"I said there was nothing."

"I don't believe you. But I can see that you're embarrassed so I'll drop it."

"I'm not embarrassed!"

"Yeah? Tell that to your red face."

"It's frustration."

"Sure it is."

Sherlock glared fiercely at John, who was chuckling softly, and said the first thing that came to his mind as a desperate attempt to quell his friend's mirth. "Speaking of embarrassing, how about that time you blurted out that you wanted to 'get off with Sarah' just as she was coming up behind you?" Sherlock hissed irritably.

It was John's turn to go red. "First of all, very mature. Second of all, shut up!" he whispered angrily.

"Then do mind your own business, John, and I'll do the same," Sherlock replied softly, his voice as cool as ice.

"Well, forgive me for taking interest in what you do."

"Ready to order, or should I wait for the passion to subside?"

Sherlock and John simultaneously turned their heads and found Angelo watching them happily. Sherlock realized with shock that he and John had unconsciously leaned forward over the table towards one another, resulting in their faces being only inches apart. Flushing, Sherlock and John hastily pulled back and avoided looking at each other in the eye.

"Did I interrupt a kiss? Please forgive me if I have," Angelo said, sounding genuinely sorry.

"Don't worry, Angelo, you didn't," John said, a little shakily. He returned the menus to the restaurant owner. "Just bring us our usual, please."

Angelo nodded eagerly. "I've never seen Sherlock blush before. It just goes to show how perfect you are for him, Doctor: you bring out sides of him that no one else can!"

"I can see that," John concurred, his expression softening as he watched his friend. Angelo gave the doctor's shoulder a congratulatory squeeze before heading back to the kitchen.

Sherlock groaned internally. That damn dream was going to be the death of him and the day was not even over yet! Moriarty was a lesser threat compared to that dream. Even the consulting detective couldn't deny that he was behaving strangely: his inability to deal with the situation was making him even more erratic than usual. He was not supposed to act so – so – human. Along with the bizarre feelings that had been attacking his senses only when he was with John, Sherlock was surprised he was sitting in a restaurant and not in a mental institution.

He blamed it all on that one dream. If he hadn't dreamt such an erotic (Sherlock shuddered at the word) dream he would not be in this mess. He only prayed that a new day would bring everything back to normal; until then, he needed to brace himself for any more silliness.

"Let's change the subject, shall we?" John suggested kindly. Sherlock, while maintaining his cool exterior, exhaled in relief on the inside. "What do you need me for? You were saying something about me being somewhere with you on the phone earlier."

"Oh, that was just Lestrade calling to tell me the press wants to do a conference with me about the Kensington murder," Sherlock said airily. "Dull stuff, but I want you to accompany me."

"If it's so boring then why do I have to tag along?"

"You're my colleague, Einstein."

"Right. So when's the conference?"

"Friday morning at nine o'clock sharp. It'll be held at Scotland Yard."

"Good to know. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"There's no need to sound so suspicious."

"I have my reasons."

"Okay. Listen, when I asked you earlier if you were all right and you told me there was nothing wrong –"

"Oh, for God's sake! Not this again!"

"– I was wondering if you were telling the truth. You were acting weird this morning and it hasn't stopped. When I questioned Lestrade – "

"Yes, I'm quite sure he's reliable."

"– he said that you were eager to solve simple cases. Simple! That's a far cry from the Sherlock Holmes that I know."

Sherlock gave John a withering look. "That's the Sherlock I know," the doctor said, sounding a bit relieved. "But seriously, Sherlock, is there anything bothering you? Answer me honestly."

There was something bothering him, that was certain, but Sherlock had no intention on telling him that.

"I'm fine, John. Do not make me repeat myself," Sherlock said menacingly.

"And I can see that I've touched a sore point. I won't ask anymore but if you keep behaving abnormally I will be making some investigations of my own. Do I make myself clear?" John replied sternly.

"Yes, mother," Sherlock said irritably as Angelo returned with their meal.

"Enjoy, boys!" Angelo exclaimed cheerfully.

"Thanks!" John told him as he retreated. He turned back to Sherlock. "How about we eat and forget about the whole thing for now?"

Sherlock nodded and they began to eat in silence. The likelihood of John's plan to investigate gaining fruition was very low: the consulting detective was excellent at erasing his traces. He had always told himself that if he worked against the law he would make a formidable criminal. John would most likely discover nothing but Sherlock would have to be careful all the same. It would not be the first time the doctor would manage to surprise him with his abilities.